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Rated: 13+ · Book · Action/Adventure · #1757574
A young man's coming of age story and the 1888 Memphis Poker Tournament.
#719322 added March 7, 2011 at 2:11pm
Restrictions: None
Chapter 8: Doomsday
Two players remained late in the evening on the fifth and last day of play. Kid Barlow prepared to duke it out for the fifty thousand dollar prize.

During a scheduled break in the tournament play, Jerry Hall, Chairman of the Tournament Committee removed the money from a rusted iron box. He riffled through the stacks of currency as cheering on-lookers helped count the cash aloud. Hall deposited the cash in the bronze-colored, hand-tooled leather saddlebag before hoisting the prize upon the bar. Sheriff Matlock moseyed over and planted himself in the nearest bar stool.

Matlock ordered a double bourbon as he leaned his back against the bar. One boot heel hung on the brass boot rail of the stool. He wore a powder-blue shirt under a worn brown suede vest. His sheriff’s star glittered in the lights of the saloon.

The piano commenced its twangy music. Dense smoke encapsulated the entire poker area. Cowpokes and gentleman elbowed their way into the crowd around the table to watch the final play. Saloon gals in their bright dresses hung their womanly attributes over the railing on the second floor for all to see. But, no one looked. For once the excitement lay on the first floor, not upstairs.

“Gentlemen, take your seats. We are about to complete the last table of the Memphis Winner-Take-All Tournament.” Kid, back from a visit to the necessary room, wiped his sweaty hands on six-day old jeans, pulled his chair up to the round oak table, and lightly placed both hands--palms down on the table in front of him.

Scarface Jackson, the other finalist, scurried across the floor after kissing Nellie the barmaid for luck. He slumped his six foot frame into the oak chair, gave Kid a steady stare, and then placed his hands on the table. Both players were ready for the dealer to commence spinning the cards across the table.

Kid reached out and snagged each twirling card dealt to him. He stacked them in front of him and took a deep breath. His left eye wanted to twitch badly, but he held it in check. He turned up the corners of the five cards one at a time. King of spades…ace of hearts…ace of clubs…three of hearts...king of hearts. Kid picked up the cards and fanned them out. Replacing them on the table, his mind whirred.

Do I go for the flush or the full house?d He thought a few minutes. His eye jumped twice. Pa would tell me to take the least amount of cards possible. It'd psych out the opponents. Regaining control of his eye, he discarded the trey of hearts and took one card from the dealer. He eyed his opponent taking measure one more time. Taking a deep breath and blowing it through puffed out cheeks, Kid lifted the corner and lowered his eyes to the new card: the king of clubs. A full house--aces over kings! Relax, control, and straight-faced, Pa's words echoed in his head. His heart thudded and his dry mouth squeaked. He struggled to keep a neutral face.

BAM! Both saloon doors cracked against the walls with staccato thuds. The bartender dropped a platter of glasses sending loud crashes throughout the room. Most people thought Hell just entered the establishment. Two huge, smelly men in disheveled clothing appeared in the doorway. Their appearance alone demanded everyone’s attention. The anxiety in the room shot beyond red on the tension-meter.

Sheriff Matlock’s six-shooter pointed at the bigger man. The bartender grabbed his gun before the last glass hit the floor. His sighted his rifle on the smaller intruder. Matlock looked toward the back door. He caught Billy Warwick’s eye and signaled with an upward move of his head. Billy snuck out the back door and hightailed it to get the deputies.

The newcomers raised their hands. “Whoa!” they said in unison. “We’re bounty hunters. we're not looking for trouble, we came to get it. We're looking fer a fellow that done robbed the Commercial Bank in Calico Rock, Arkansas. We got a tip he might be over this way.”

“Let me see some papers,” said the sheriff not lowering his gun a smidgen. The deputies arrived. One took guard of the prize money; the other stood behind the desperado-looking intruders. Matlock strolled over and took the proffered papers. “Okay, but don’t be interrupting us with that right now. Look around if you want, but then you’ll need to mosey on out of here and right on out of town.”

Although play at the poker table stopped, the dealer took up where he had left off by nodding at Jackson to discard. Scarface threw in two cards and awaited the replacements while clearing his throat making use of the spittoon.

Kid concentrated on Pa. He conjured up a mental image of the old man. Though he appeared to be staring into space, Kid could see his Pa and Pa spoke to him. ‘You got to win the Big One, Kid. Just relax, be in control, and keep that face of yours blank as a blackboard in summer.' Kid swallowed hard and hoped his face was not sweating as bad as his heart was pounding. ‘So close. You’re so close. Easy now, boy.’

The intruders sauntered around studying faces and comparing what they saw to the likeness on a crumpled-up wanted poster. The sheriff suggested the smaller of the two men to go to the jail with him to discuss this matter when the huge, nasty-looking hombre spied Kid.

“Why, that's him right there, Crazy Bill,” said Big and Nasty as he advanced in the direction of a cowering Kid. Scared beyond belief and eye twitching like a winking machine, Kid peed his pants. He looked to the sheriff for help, but the sheriff just stared back. He looked to the bartender, but the he just stared at the pee on his saloon floor and shook his greasy, pock-marked head.

Crazy Bill, studied the poster and Kid with the one good eye he had that seemed a bit cocked to the left. “Yep, I reckon it is,” he drawled. "What you think, Crazy Bill? Seems like he’s had a hair mowing, but I think this is him."

“Yep, I do believe you are right."

“Let’s haul ‘em out of here. It’s powerful late.”

As they started to grab Kid, he asked to speak with them in private for a moment. In the corner of the room, Kid begged them to let him finish this last hand. He told the intruders that he had a sure winner and would receive a brand new saddle bag along with $50,000 in cash. He’d be willing to give them $5,000 each if they’d let him stay and finish the hand.

At the mention of the money, a plan niggled in Big and Nasty’s pea-sized brain. He looked at Crazy Bill with a crooked smile and winked. Crazy Bill smiled back. “Why sure, Kid. We’ll let you finish this here hand. I’ll just have a bit of beer while you finish up. Crazy Bill, here, can go fetch your horse. Tell him where that horse of yours is parked. Then, we’ll take you and yore winnings back to Calico Rock so you can pay your debt to society and all.”

“Murray’s Livery right down the street. Name’s Buck. Be sure and give Mr. Murray a sawbuck.” Somewhat relieved, Kid Barlow returned to the table. Pa, you gotta help me here. Keep me calm, like you said. Please, Pa, I’m beggin’ you. He got his twitching eye under control.

“Since I gotta go,” said Kid, “I’ll just go all in.”

Scarface Jackson considered it a moment and figured the Kid had a losing hand. He only took one card. What are the chances of his beating my straight? He mulled it over a few minutes. “Okay, I’m in,” said Jackson spreading his hand fan-like on the table." Straight, Queen high."

Kid laid down his cards one at a time: ace... ace...king...king…Thank God, thought Jackson. He’s only got two of a kind. Jackson let out a sigh of relief. Ace.

“Ace?” screeched Scarface. He bolted up toppling his chair. The sound of guns cocking filled the air. He shook a clinched fist toward Kid and yelled, “I’ll git you, Barlow. I will get you real soon!” The Sheriff insinuated himself between them and herded Scarface out the back door.

The tournament was over and Kid was a wealthy man. People were banging him on the back, laughing, and congratulating the young man who--even with wet pants--had won the 1888 Memphis tournament,

“I got his horse. Git him and that money out here,“ Crazy Bill yelled from the door.

Big and Ugly grabbed Kid, corralled the new saddle bag of money, and they high-tailed it out of town.

Once they had a fair amount of distance between them and the city, they slowed their pace. “Will you fellers let me go by the Calico Commercial Bank when we git there before you turn me in? I wanna pay ‘em back the money I took plus interest and deposit the rest for when I get outta jail,” asked Kid.

Big and Nasty laughed, “Why shore, Kid. But being’s how your wanted dead or alive, I sure hopes we can get you there alive, ain’t that right, Crazy Bill?"

“Yeah, that’s right,” laughed Crazy Bill. “We got a ways to go to get to Calico Rock and it sure can be dangerous. Never you fear, little buddy. Me and my friend here will take very good care of you."

“My ma’s gonna be so happy I won all this money! She'll probably cry all night!” said Kid Barlow as he flashed the bounty hunters a big, naive grin. "She won't be having to take in any laundry any more."

Big and Nasty hooted. “Yeah, she’ll be crying all right. I bet she’ll be crying all night and the next day too, sure enough," Crazy Bill said.

“You think we better stop up there at that copse, Crazy Bill? I think there’s a stream nearby. Seems like we been riding a long time and it‘s getting a bit cloudy. It‘s dangerous to try and ride with no moon out.”

The bounty hunters concocted a small fire and got out their bed rolls. “Don’t take it too personal, Barlow, but we’re gonna have to tie you up. It wouldn’t do for our reward money to get away now, would it?”

“No, I reckon not,” admitted Kid. “You got a extra bedroll? I ain’t got one.”

“Nope. Neither one of us got an extra. But, I tell you what, Kid. I’ll give you mine to use. This is a special night for you and one we don’t want you never to forget.”

“That’d be real nice. I thank you. You guys aren’t so bad. I knows you jist doing your job. So, I ain’t got no hard feelings.”

Big and Ugly laughed. “We ain’t got no hard feelings neither and we’re gonna remember you fer a long time. That we are.”

They tied Kid's hands and feet up on Big and Ugly’s bedroll and pulled a saddle blanket over him. The moon slipped behind the dark clouds in the sky and only the firelight reflected into the night. A gentle wind blew and a coyote howled in the distance.
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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/719322-Chapter-8--Doomsday